Taking Faith by Shelby Fallon

His father rolled over to be over him and grunted and strained as if to squeeze the life out of Roger forever.
    Amy just reacted.
    She scrambled up from the floor and ran to him with purpose . She searched for something - anything - to use on him. A vase on the fireplace mantel looked like the best bet so she grabbed it. In a move so bold and risky that Amy had never pulled anything l ike it before, she let the blue porcelain vase fall from her hands to Roger's father's head.
    It broke apart against his scalp and his father lay still. Roger pushed his father off onto the carpet and retched and coughed as he got his breath. She knelt down to pat his back, but he was too busy checking on his father. "Dad?"
    His father groaned and moaned into Roger's shirt sleeve. Roger sighed and slumped as he realized his father was all right. "I'm going to go put him back in his truck. Hopefully he'll wake up there and not remember any of this because he's too drunk."
    Amy nodded and watched as Roger picked his father up and carried him out the door that had been left open. She left everything where it was, all a mess and broken, and went to the bedroom. She opened the closet door and sat down in the floor of it. It was beginning to feel like her own little confessional.
    She stretched her legs out. They almost touched the other side of the closet, but not quite. She stared at the opposite blank wall and tried not to break down. There had been enough of that and she had no idea what to expect when Roger returned. She felt a different kind of numb. The kind that was hard to awake from. The kind that made her wonder if she would ever be the same again.
    She heard the front door close and braced herself. She heard his bare feet pad down the hall and disappear onto the carpeted bedroom. His shadow came into sight and then he was filling the frame of the closet doorway. He watched her for just a second before bending down to sit opposite her in the closet.
    "How's the cheek?" he asked and leaned forward a little to see it better.
    "He didn't get a very good swing," Amy said nonchalantly. "My head hurts though." She rubbed it with her fingers, feeling the little knot forming. He touched her cheek with his fingers gently, making her still, before sitting back and closing his eyes.
    "I'm so sorry. I'm not sure I can ever get you to understand how sorry I am."
    Amy wasn't able to help her next words. "Are you all right?"
    "I'm fine," was his gruff response.
    "I think you're lying," she countered and pulled her knees in to rise up on them. "Lift your shirt."
    "Nah, I'm fine," he said tiredly.
    She felt bad and knew he was tired, but so was she. She was also still in her numb mood and wasn't taking no for an answer. "Roger. Lift. Your. Shirt."
    He sighed in a way men did to a stubborn woman. She could have grinned, but didn't. He lifted his shirt. As suspected, his midsection was already red and beginning to swell in spots. She leaned in close to inspect an d smelled his cologne. It was a scent she'd never smelled before she met him.
    She had known a girl who used to get beaten when she was in grade school. The girl told her how her father never hit her in the face because he didn't want people to see her bruises. He always hit her under her clothes. Roger's stomach had plenty of scars on it and she knew that bastard of a man that he called a father had been doing what he'd done to Roger in the dining room for many years before this. She shook her head and touched one of his ribs to see if it might be broken. She couldn't tell, but he still winced and grabbed her hand.
    "It's fine, Amy. I've dealt with worse."
    "I'm sure you have," she said. "He always hit you under your clothes, didn't he?" Roger just looked at her. "But why? I'm sure the community doesn't care if the people b eat their kids here or not. "
    Again no answer so she just sat back against the wall and sighed. She closed her eyes for just a moment before he spoke. "I've never fought back